


Don't Give Up! Eventually Friend Ahead

by odalwa



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, Some angst, drabble?, lonely crestfallen guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odalwa/pseuds/odalwa
Summary: The crestfallen warrior, sitting at the bonfire all day, observes as the Chosen Undead seeks his purpose. When Laurentius goes below to seek the chaos flame, the Chosen one makes it his task to set things right. Just a small story hitting the beats of the plot of Dark Souls from the perspective of the passive observer who will hang out at Firelink through the whole game so long as you don't talk to him.
Relationships: Chosen Undead/Crestfallen Warrior, Chosen Undead/Laurentius of the Great Swamp
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Don't Give Up! Eventually Friend Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for tons of reusing lines from the game and a story that doesn't really go anywhere. I like sad guy.  
> Written a long time ago and posted now in the thought that it's more worthwhile to share stories than to let them sit in your laptop memory for eternity

I am sitting comfortably on a broken wall, just a short way from the bonfire- which is roaring happily- and I’m really not paying much attention to my surroundings, so it takes me a little while to notice the strange and monstrous sound which begins to stand out from the sounds of the fire. It’s slow and rhythmic, and somewhat… terrifying. The sound of it sends shivers down my spine, and gives me a terrible sense of unease. I tap my leg for a few moments, but the pulsing wheezing noises stretch on at an even pace, and doesn’t get louder or quieter. I can’t let myself get stabbed in the back, so I stand and take my sword and shield in my hands. I’m not really brimming with confidence, but I steel what I have and walk up the stairs and- I’m immediately faced with an enormous worm creature with bulging eyes and human teeth half the size of its head. The sight of it almost weakens me, but when I look to my side I realize the old pyromancer is still sitting there like nothing is wrong. His eyes are closed.

“Hey,” I hiss and bump him with my boot. “How are you asleep with such a thing nearby?”

“Huh?” it takes him a moment to come to. “You mean the serpent? He’s here about that undead who rang the bells. It was probably Ian, I’d bet. Ever since I met him, I knew he’d have the gall to go and do something like that.”

I don’t think I know who he’s talking about. I don’t reply, and instead go through the archway to the pond, which I can see now has been drained to make room for this creature before me. It’s looking down at me through its bloody eyes.

“Ah, an undead. Hello. Were you the one who rang the bells?” It croaks at me.

“Um… No… I, uh, I rang one bell… Some time ago.”  
“Yes, I see you are not the undead I seek.”

“I see…” I sort of mumble this to myself, and back away from the thing slowly. I turn my back after I pass behind a wall, and plop back down in my seat. How strange. I sigh deeply and stare into the flame, watching it churn and flare up occasionally.

The fire goes out suddenly; it just shrinks down to the ashes and the light fades quickly within it. I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but can’t motivate myself to move. I’m still very comfortable. The ash pile doesn’t lose its warmth as fast as it lost its light.

A hollow wearing nothing but a loincloth stumbles up the stairs and I think he’s coming for me but he turns and makes a beeline for the bonfire. He sits at it for a moment, but lets out a frustrated scream when he sees the fire is dead. I watch him sprint up the stairs and away from me. Was that the one who rang the bell?

I stare at the warm ash and smoke rise from the dead fire pit, and listen to my surroundings. The loudest thing is the serpent, whose rising and falling breaths put a hard lump in my gut. There’s the low clucking of the gigantic crow which dropped everyone here, and the more peaceful chirping of smaller, more natural birds. And up until now, there was the hearty sounds of the crackling fire, which did much to quell my dread. The absence of this sound leaves an emptiness, through which I can hear the shifting stone of the lift to the undead parish. Wait, that’s not right. The lift is broken; this is why I had to trudge through the waterway and the undead burg just to approach the parish. Why is it working now?

There’s the groaning pain of shifting stone as the lift starts up again, and it startles me. I didn’t expect the sound of it to be so piercing and… violent. The lift crashes to a stop and I listen for footsteps.

…I can only hear the unhealthy breathing of the serpent.

“Oh!” Someone behind me cries out in surprise. “I didn’t see you there. How’re things treatin’ you?”

“Oh you know me, I’m doing quite well. I’m just a dandy old fool.” They both laugh. “Just got back from slugging through the mud down below, just to find a cold hearth and, uh…” the voice trails off.

“Yes, that uhm, that thing popped right out of the stone. I think he’s here for you.”

“Me? … It must be that he’s going to tell me my fate. I’ll speak to him.”

At this point, I’m interested to see what will happen, so I move very slowly and carefully tiptoe to the broken arch, and I peer in. The raggedy old man is standing for once, watching as his companion approaches the snake that fills the doorway. A shiver runs down my spine; the creature’s breath is a constant wind that rushes to meet me, pulling me forward.

“Ahh, hello. Was it you who rang the Bells of Awakening?” The snake sways from side to side.

“Yeah, I-I did.” The hooded man laughs a little uncertainly. He doesn’t look to be a trustworthy sort to me.

“I am the Primordial Serpent, Kingseeker Frampt, close friend of the Great Lord Gwyn. Chosen Undead, who has rung the Bell of Awakening, I wish to elucidate your fate. Do you seek such enlightenment?”

“I-I, yes, of course, please.” So there is such a thing as the Chosen Undead? Is this a trick?

“Very well. Then I am pleased to share. Chosen Undead.” The newly appointed visibly straightens. “Your fate… is to succeed the Great Lord Gwyn. So that you may link the fire, cast away the dark, and undo the curse of the undead. To this end, you must visit Anor Londo and acquire the Lord Vessel.” There is silence except for the serpent’s loud breath.

“To… succeed Gwyn? No way someone like me could do that,” he says. I agree; this guy looks the sort who would skulk around the lower burg, dancing and throwing knives for fun.

“Did you not ring the bells? Clearly fate has chosen you.” My eyebrows rise as the chosen undead kneels before Frampt.

“I-I understand. I will try to bear this duty with pride. Wh-what must I do, then?”

“Those who seek the realm of the Lords must brave Sen’s Fortress, a deadly house of traps. Many have gone before you, but none have returned.”

“What?” I almost laugh at his shock.

“Fate has chosen you, but proceed with caution.”

“None have ever returned?”

Frampt doesn’t answer, and after a few moments, the undead turns away from the serpent and looks right at me. I’m surprised, and a little embarrassed, so I turn and hide behind the wall, still listening.

“Uhm, Sir Frampt?” his voice sounds weak.

“I have revealed your fate to you, Chosen Undead. Proceed through Sen’s Fortress with great caution.”

“…Y-yes. Okay. I will do my upmost to live up to this holy task.” My heart shakes with the horrible snorting chuckle that the serpent lets out.

“Hehh-kehh-heheh! Yes, that’s the spirit!” Somehow, that sound was worse than I thought it would be. What a terrifying beast it is. I carefully step back to my seat, thinking for a moment, I feel almost lucky not to be the chosen one. But when I sit down I remember, the fire is still dead, and the stinking breath of the serpent blows the ash around mockingly. Behind me, the two men start to chatter about what just happened. I am tired, so I try to tune out their anxious bickering. It goes on for a long time before there is quiet, and soon the scraping stone lift roars to life and goes up. I stare at the dead fire and wonder, should I do something about this?

It gets incredibly dark without the fire at night. My armor chills me to the bone, and I can hear the snoring of the monstrous snake so easily without any distracting sound but the birds. My safe haven has been intruded upon and ruined entirely. Between the death of the fire keeper and the appearance of that giant snake that drained the pool, the shrine just hasn’t felt all that sacred. Not that I ever believed it truly was a sacred place, but at least there weren’t miscreants running around killing fire keepers or summoning smelly monsters. Now I’m just curled in a ball on the grass, waiting through the night and trying not to shiver. This is no way to be.

Behind me I hear a lift start to fall, and come to a stop. It’s probably the one the serpent wants. I can’t hear any footsteps.

“Ian! It’s been ages; It’s good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you Lauri!"

“Oh you fool, your silly nicknames’ll make me blush.” I roll my eyes and try again to ignore their banter. These thieves from the depths speak loudly and freely and their mutterings of pyromancy lessons and admissions of affection are hard not to notice without the absorbing sound of the fire, which I miss dearly.

“-spoke to Andre about it, and I’ve decided to go ahead and try for Anor Londo. I have faith that this is right.” Listening to this hopeful drivel sours my stomach. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep.

My eyes open suddenly when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s still dark, and a shadow looms over me.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? We’re hardly friends, aren’t we?” I brush off the hand and sit up, feeling a sudden chill come over me.

“Well, you were the one who told me about the two bells, and yesterday, something amazing happened to me. You saw, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was there. I saw. Pretty incredible to ring both bells, but now we’ve got a bigger problem. It’s noisy, it snores, and its breath is lethal.”

“Lethal, as in, it’s smelly?” he laughs a childish giggle.

“I tell you, this is no laughing matter.” I sigh. “Maybe it’s time I do something about it.”

“What do you intend to do?” he asks. I shrug.

“I was just beginning to get comfortable, here, you know.”

“Please, friend.” Friend? Have we spoken more than twice? “Please stay, for your safety. I… I believe I can save all of us. You should just stay put and stay sane.”

“Hmph, feeling pretty confident now, are you?” I stifle a laugh.

“Well, yes. I’m the undead chosen to succeed Lord Gwyn. Can you believe it?”

“I certainly don’t,” I laugh at him outright now.

“Please, please, stay. I have seen so many, thinking they must take action, go and get themselves killed and stuck hollowed somewhere awful.”

“And what do you care for me?” 

“I can’t help but care for any human still coherent enough to have a conversation. It’s a rare thing that’s worth preserving. I can relight the fire.” I look down at the ash pile. “If you would just stay here, where I know it’s safe, and wait for me. I will relight the fire and undo the curse of the undead.”

“All right, all right. I’ll stay, crazy fool. But if the fire hasn’t relighted within a week, I’ll have to do something myself. I feel as though I’m losing my humor about all this.”

“That’s wonderful. I leave for Sen’s Fortress tonight.”

“Good luck…. But it’s going to be suicide…” I’m starting to drift off, thinking about the countless deaths I’ve endured and committed, and I start to chuckle to myself.

“I’ve been poisoned, burned alive, and flattened by boulders and I still have my head on straight. I think I can deal with a little more suicide in my life.” He leaves me then with thoughts of boulder flattening and poison to bid an amorous goodbye to the old pyromancer next door. Though my mind is occupied with nightmarish images from my past, I snap out of it and hear, through the nasal breath of the giant monster, small wet sounds that once made me think of sex, but the sound today makes me imagine wriggling worms and leeches that burrow into flesh. It’s only after the sounds stop that I hear humans speaking in warm voices, and I’m drawn away from my nightmare to the cold night air in the ruined shrine. Nights are just terrible without any fire.

Days pass. I sit on my wall and watch the clouds, peeking down at the firepit occasionally to check for any spark. I watch distantly as a sweaty bald man in leather armor wanders up from where the serpent is lingering. He must have been in the catacombs. When did that happen? There is quiet murmuring coming from the old pyromancer’s direction. Maybe he’s going mad as well. I let my mind drift in and out, laying down occasionally to comfort myself. If I stare closely into the fire I can see the ash and dust dance in the serpent’s breath. Is he really the age-old primordial serpent I’d heard of in stories? Is the fate of humanity and the origin of life itself really connected to the actions of creatures like that? I try to sleep through this time without the bonfire, and I wait longer than I said I would for it to rekindle.

I can hear the sickly sounds of an undead coupling happening far too close to me for comfort. I stare angrily at the flame, as though it’s going to do a damn thing about it, and I listen to the sound of their scrabbling limbs against the dirt, pulling up weeds and scraping themselves against the cobblestone. The man who fancies himself The Chosen Undead has been coming on to everyone he meets, I’m sure. He wouldn’t stop talking about how he braved Sen’s Fortress and was delivered to Anor Londo, and greeted by a beautiful goddess, and frankly, it made me feel quite ill. How did someone like him even make it through Blight Town? Shouldn’t he have been eaten alive by the flies? I spit into the fire and watch it sizzle while I think about The Chosen One being eaten by flies, and I listen to the grotesque sounds of lovemaking not five feet away from me, in the ruins of this once holy place. Stifling a laugh, I wonder to myself, am I hollow yet? I must be mad.

Well, tuning out the world around me is an easy feat, so I sit and I stare into the flame, and think about nothing much at all until my view of the fire is obscured by some body. I look up and who might it be but the man who used me to indulge in his exhibitionism so recently.

“What? What is it now?” I meet eyes with the magician, who looks down at me with what I can safely assume is disgust or contempt. His eyes are dark, as they always are. He looks to me as though he is a man haunted by what he has seen. I look to his boots and note the black robes he wears are soaked in old blood. I also notice the swirling blue aura around his feet. _Repugnant tricks of a sorcerer._

“I just wanted to see if you have any new information.” He says.

“New information? I look like an informant to you?”

“…No, I suppose not. My apologies.”

“Wait. Here’s a good one. I’ve heard the old man from the swamp has been feeling quite sick recently. You should hear the way he moans and groans these days.” I find myself smiling dully at my own words, but Sir Knight the Chosen Sorcerer frowns deeply.

“Is that suppose to be a joke?” His voice is dark.

“I’m not really up for a chat right now. Leave me alone.”

“To whom do you think you’re referring to when you speak of a sick old man? Do you mean to insult my lover with your words?” He stands taller, posturing himself for a fight.

“Just leave me alone.” I look back down, through the scumbag to the fire. Part of me wants to lose myself right now and see if I could chop the Chosen Undead in half. _New information_ , he says. Like there is a place in Lordran I’ve explored beyond the Parish. As if there is something I could know that could be helpful to some… _‘great hero.’_ He speaks a bit more, then he just stands there, waiting, but eventually he leaves. I can feel my gut swimming. Inadequate is… maybe not a strong enough word for how I feel. I hear muffled speaking behind me, where the old pyromancer sits, and I think about the legendary Big Hat Logan sitting on the grass barely thirty feet away. It feels like some kind of dream, to be surrounded by so many who are so clearly better than me.

While sitting and staring at the flame, I think about the ones who’ve passed through here. A bald armored man with a greatshield – likely dead and hollow, a golden-armored fellow who sounded untrustworthy – also likely to be dead, a young girl in white robes, most certainly hollow somewhere, and three armored Thorolund clerics. Only one came back to the shrine, so of course the others are dead and hollow somewhere. Who else? I think I heard the morose lass sitting beneath me speaking recently, alive again. Maybe I’ll stop by and have a chat. Mainly, that Sorcerer keeps coming and going. He talks to everybody else. _Everybody_ else. Am I really that boring? Was he not the one who begged me to stay when I was ready to confront the serpent for myself?

Yes, there’s also the matter of the serpent. The hideous serpent, staring through the wall straight at me, and breathing hard enough to pull a small wind which ebbs and flows over me. It smells vaguely fishy, and I expect that very soon it will annoy me enough to make me get up. I stare intently down at the fire, trying to ignore what feels like the attention of that creature on my back. It has been here for quite some time now.

Hours must pass, because it gets dark eventually, as it so often does, and I am still peacefully staring at the burning heart of my curse, listening to the enormous snoring breaths of its attendant. An undead should never stray far from the bonfire, I think bitterly. Yet, I am eternally grateful for the bonfire’s presence.

… How was a puny sorcerer able to ford Blight Town when I could not? Am I not a reasonably strong knight? Wasn’t I once, at least? There’s nothing I can say that can be of any use. I’m no better than the forlorn fire keeper.

It’s light out, the enormous black bird is chirping merrily and the chosen undead is standing in front of me. I watch his lips move as he says something to me, and I know he’s expecting to hear some kind of response. I plan to say something like,

“I’m not up for chatting. Leave me alone.” He frowns at me, and I look up to his narrowed eyes and watch the furrow in his brow become more pronounced.

“You… Were you listening to me?” He sounds suspicious. Angry, actually. It makes me smile.

“You think whatever you have to say matters to me?” I chuckle, and Mr Chosen One’s face sours. He looks like a puckered prune, and his face is getting red.

“I imagine you haven’t moved from this spot in some time. Listen to me now.” His voice is commanding, which pisses me off. “Laurientus of the Great Swamp has gone away somewhere. You must have seen him go. Tell me where he went.”

“I don’t know,” I spit, “Maybe he’s gone to Sen’s Fortress to toss himself on the first flame, like yourself. Or maybe he’s gone to Blight Town, where the stench will remind him of home.” I crack myself up, but my mood dies when the asshole steps forward and slaps me across the face.

“This is not some joke. Where has he gone?”

“You prick, I haven’t seen your fucking boyfriend! Now just leave me be!”

“No. You must have seen him pass. Where did he go?” He is leaning down so our eyes are level, and he maintains eye contact with me. Should I attack him? He’s making me angry.

“I didn’t see, alright? I wasn’t looking, I was just…” My eyes lose focus and I break eye contact, trying to remember what was happening. “Just, sitting here.”

“If you were sitting here, you must have seen! Please, tell me,” he reaches out to grab my shoulders, and I let him. He gently shakes me and searches my eyes until I look back at him. It feels intimate to me, maybe because I’ve been sitting here alone for so long.

“The sound of that beast is driving me mad,” I say.

“You must remember seeing Laurien. I just need you to point out the direction.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore. Maybe scared. I don’t hear the bird chirping anymore. Just the steady short breaths of the serpent, no doubt watching and listening while it grinds its teeth.

“It’s good he left. This shrine is a joke.” The sorcerer lets go of me and rubs his face with his hands, obviously exasperated. I sigh and think in earnest about whether I had seen anything besides the grass growing and the fire burning. Someone’s feet walking by, brown tattered shoes. Someone’s back to me as they huddle in front of the fire. A hood? And someone speaking, but I wasn’t listening to what they said. Then the person turns to face me, but I’m still staring at his shoes. Yes, that probably happened. I laugh to myself and try to shrug out of the sorcerer’s grip. He surprises me with his strength when his grip tightens and stills my fidgeting.

“He must have gone down below?. I think I saw a figure shambling toward the elevator, once… or twice…” and the face in front of mine sours again in anger.

“Stop with your jokes!”

“If he’s going where I think he is, you’d better go after him, don’t you think? You know, when you reopened the doors to that cesspool, you opened a whole world of death to us all. But, I’m sure you’ll sort things out. You’ve got that determined look on your face.” Finally he lets go, and I sit back to see if there will be any guilty crying or confession.

“Of course I’m going back down there. You sit here by the fire where it’s warm and comfy. I’ll be back.” He starts to walk away.

“I think I’ve heard that from several people now. Haven’t seen any of them, though.”

“Don’t look forward to my return.” What? What does that mean? I have nothing to say to that, so I just sit and watch him as he breaks into a sprint down the stairs. He’s out of sight in an instant, and soon I hear the click of the elevator and feel the slight shudder of earth as the platform falls.

Some time has passed for sure. Maybe days. Most likely days. I don’t know why I remain here. After sitting and staring into the flame and feeling the awful push and pull of wind for so long, I’ve fallen into a sort of trance, and I am overwhelmed with the image of encroaching darkness. The fire in the center of my vision is as bright as the sun, and it clearly represents the center of the world, the singular most important thing; it shines and its orange glow pierces and pushes back the darkness. The image is beautiful, and I stare at it for some time, watching the fire grow and shrink with the push and pull of a gentle tide, darkness expanding and then shrinking away from the edges of my vision. I feel the wiggling of humanity in my heart, which yearns to be one with this fire, and hold my hand to my chest.

The fire dances beautifully for me, and after some time, I decide to sit closer. When I sit down, I’m facing the doorway to the pool, where Frampt is surely looking through me. But the fire is warm and comforting, and my heart relaxes as I sit close to it. I stare into the fire for a long time. I think that I dream.

“Hey friend, I’m talking to you.” A boot nudges mine, and suddenly I’m here again, at Firelink Shrine, staring at the fire. There’s a large man in platemail standing beside me. He kicks my foot again.

“What? What is it now? Another chosen undead?” I take a moment to look him up and down. Though he wears heavy armor, he’s equipped with only a dull short sword. His face is shriveled and gaunt, and he looks to be in a bad mood, for understandable reasons.

“Chosen undead? What d’you mean? A bird just picked me up and carried me here! I thought it was going to eat me! Are you saying it chose me?”

“Oh never mind. Don’t worry about what I said. A lone undead like you or me could never change our fate anyway, right? Look at you, you’re practically hollow!” What I’m saying seems to be getting to this guy, because his posture falls low, and his hollowed face sinks into a frown.

“There’s… Is there a way to undo this? You look like you’re alive.” He sounds as scared as I remember a certain chosen undead once being when he first spoke to me. He’s no doubt now a hollow with his lover in Blight Town.

“Well, there’s a couple of ways to go about it… You can pilfer it from a fresh undead corpse, or you can get yourself summoned, if you can find a way into the favor of a cleric. Or, you could….” I trail off, looking close at this guy, trying to make a judgment. I’m not sure I should be telling just any hollow that they could get humanity by killing someone like me. “I’ve heard… the rats down in the depths are prone to carrying bits of it between their teeth.” He stands quietly, thinking of something.

“What are you looking at? Don’t try anything, you might regret it.”

“Oh, of course..” He backs up a few paces, and sits at the bonfire with me. I feel around for my sword, just to ensure I’m prepared. I don’t trust him. Soon enough though, he leaves for the depths.

“I just want to be human again. That’s all that really matters to me right now.”

“All right, but be wary. Some things in those depths are hidden away for a reason. Take care to avoid being cursed, or poisoned, or feasted on by the rats you hunt. Good hunting.” I wave and chuckle at my own jokes, and how it puts a look of fear into the armored lad’s face. He leaves without saying goodbye. I suppose my words have this effect on others.

Soon, I am alone with the bonfire and the serpent. I’m curious now, what does the Kingseeker have to say about the crow’s decision to bring another “chosen” undead? That night I decide to push back my fear and speak to it.

I approach cautiously, weapon and shield out just in case. It’s looking right at me and gnashing its teeth.

“Ah, another undead. How fares thine journey?”

“The bells rang already. Why is the crow bringing more bloody undead?”

“Those who are undead are chosen in this land. One of you rang the bells. Could not another? Could not thou ring the bell?” Its eyes are turned toward me while it chews. I don’t know what to say.

“Well, eh… no…” I lower my sword. “But, er, that old sorcerer already did. Wasn’t he proclaimed to be the chosen one? Why bring more?”

“The Heir Ian is a powerful soul indeed; however, he has not returned to tend his duty in some time. Many simply do not have the heart to carry this burden. But there are many undead spawning across the lands. A new heir will be chosen soon.”

“Titles come and go easily to the earnest undead, hm? Shame about… ol’ chosen one…” I turn away to go, but the serpent speaks again.

“Do not think that just any undead could have awakened me. Yet, the only thing that separates the chosen undead from a mere hollow is purpose. Purpose is what will drive an undead to persevere through the challenges before him, and anchor his mind so that he can complete his task. To that end, I am ally to you as well as Gwyn.” I stand a moment more and wait for it to say something else, but it doesn’t, and I walk back to the fire, and curl up by it. The front of my body is warm to the point of sweating, but it’s comfortable and I lay on my side close to the fire for hours. _My purpose…_ Why would the serpent tell someone like me all that? I suppose he’s just trying to convince me to try for Sen’s Fortress to fulfill his purpose. Or he’s just reminding me why I’ll go hollow next time someone has the gall to kill me. I put a hand over my sword, and close my eyes for a while.

A burst of flame jets from the bonfire and startles me awake. The fire has summoned the sorcerer I thought dead and hollow. He falls to his knees in despair immediately, and I watch him carefully while I right myself. I say nothing. I look between him and the bonfire, anticipating some angry response, but he just stares into the fire with his sagging hollowed face and doesn’t acknowledge me. Eventually he reaches into his robes and retrieves a dark wiggling sprite, and crushes it in his fist. Sitting close to the fire, his rotten form burns away, and he sits back, fully human. I watch from the corner of my eye. He stares at the fire for a long time, before turning his eyes to mine. I look away.

“Hey.” He says.

“What?”

“Laurientus is dead.” He covers his face with his hands and sighs heavily. “I mean, he’s alive, but he’s mad. I couldn’t kill him, so he killed me.” I expected as much, but I think it best to keep it to myself.

“Well, what are you going to do now?” He doesn’t answer right away. My eyes dart over to see him laying out a bedroll dangerously close to the fire. “Where did you get a thing like that?”

“I stole it from some hollow down in the lower burg. He’s not in any shape to appreciate it like I am.” The sorcerer pulls his shoes off and climbs under the ratted sheet. “I’m going to rest here a while. Then I think I’ll go back to Blight Town. I can reason with Laurientus and get him to come back with me.”

“You’re mad to set foot there. Why would you commit suicide like that again and again?”

“I’m not like you, you know. I can’t just twiddle my thumbs and wait for the world to end. I have this responsibility now, to follow in Lord Gwyn’s footsteps, and link the fire, so the way I see it, I have no other choice but to keep moving. To this end, my undead state has really been a blessing. It’s allowed me to overcome challenges I never could if I had but one death to die.” He says all this while staring straight up from his bedroll to the clouds. I look around, at the gibbering fool rolled up in a sleeping bag, the bonfire which seems to burn higher when he’s around, and up at the sky. He looks up at me for a moment. “Have you ever died?”

“…Naturally. How else would they have known I was undead? I was tossed to the asylum, same as any who’d live after death.”

“How did you escape the asylum?”

“What’s it to you? Why’re you getting so friendly, anyway?”

“I just thought that, since you’ve stuck around for this long, we could become friends…What’s your name, anyway?”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging around those other wizards? You’d get along better, you know.” He looks back to me, frowning.

“I-I’m not actually a sorcerer, by trade. I pilfered this Vinheim robe from a dead spook, in Sen’s Fortress. I’ve been learning spells from Master Griggs and Master Logan, but I think they might find my garb, um, unsettling.” The revelation makes me chuckle.

“I had no idea, you were impersonating a spook the whole time… heh heh heh…”

“I didn’t really think of it that way… until now.” He removes his hat and sets it aside. His dark hair is matted from sweat. “I must rest. Tomorrow I’m going back down below.” With that he turns on his side and curls up toward the bonfire, and he says nothing more. I turn back to the fire, and find myself growing distant while I watch the flames, listening to the soft breathing of the human on the floor, and the more noticeable breathing of the snake some feet away. Why _am_ I still hanging around here? Surely there must be something I should do. A purpose is what separates a mad hollow from the chosen undead. Of course, I’ve lost hope of being ‘chosen one’ a long time ago.

I don’t truly sleep, so I can see that the sorcerer Ian doesn’t sleep either. I sit with my elbows on my knees and gaze into the fire, but occasionally my view is drawn across from me, to the gateway where Frampt sleeps. Except he’s awake right now, and watching us. Ian turns over every once in a while; his eyes are open, but he doesn’t look at me. The sun sets, and the serpent’s orange eyes glow in the darkness. I make eye contact with it more than I’d like. Eventually the sun rises again, and relief fills my heart as the golden light of morning fills the ruins. When the sun is visible above the ruined walls, he stands and starts to pack up his bedroll, but looks at me and stops.

“Would you like to borrow this?” he gestures to the slim mattress. “I won’t be taking any rests in Blight Town. Sitting on the cold stone in chainmail must get uncomfortable.”  
“On the contrary, I’ve never been so cozy. You may as well take it, it will make your new life as a hollow more comfortable down there.”

“You know, you don’t have to be such a prick. I’ll be back.” He rolls it up and stands so I’m looking up at him. “I won’t rest in Blight Town. This is just dead weight to me.” The bedroll hits the ground with a thud and unravels immediately. He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t, so he leaves. I wait for some time after he’s gone before I straighten out the bed and get comfy. It’s been a long time since I’ve laid on a bed of any sort. I haven’t wandered away from Firelink for a long time. Being covered in a blanket reminds me of being hugged, which makes me laugh at my pathetic loneliness. I’d take off my armor if I wasn’t concerned about any one of those travelers returning as mad hollows to kill me. As it is, I’m more comfortable than I’ve been in a long time, save for the smelly serpent’s breath which has become a constant in my life. I drift off, and I dream.

“Hey.” There’s a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. “Hey, sad guy.”

I sit up suddenly, realizing that someone is really here, but it just turns out to be Ian, the false sorcerer.

“It’s you. I’m surprised you made it back… again.”

“Yeah. Do you, mind if I join you?” He’s already pulling back the woolen blanket as he asks, and I just shake my head and lay back down, facing the flame. He plops down beside me, making a fuss of pulling the blanket back over us perfectly, and curls up closely behind me.

“This is bizarre,” I mumble. The other man wraps his arm around my stomach, and I lift my arm to let his go under mine.

“You should take off your armor.”

“I’m not going to do that.” I sit incredibly still. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Well…I am alone without Laurien. And I feel terrible, but I have to keep my head on so I can break this curse. I thought that… some affection would make me feel better.”

“How do you crusaders keep on like that? I’d peter out in an instant…” The chosen undead squeezes me slightly and pulls himself closer. He’s breathing on my neck.

“I am preventing myself from becoming a mad corpse. Aren’t you afraid you’ll end up banging your head against a wall until the end of time?” This makes me laugh.

“Well no shit! Why do you think I’m still here?” He doesn’t answer right away. In the moment, I wonder why I am still here. I guess it’s because, there’s no escape from this fate, and I will have to be somewhere.

“I-I thought you stayed because I asked you to… But I’m glad you stayed. Nearly everyone else has gone.”

“Are you going to do anything to get rid of that thing?” I look toward the serpent.

“He’s my ally, strangely enough. If I link the fire, it will break the curse of the undead, and we can die human. Everyone could return to their homelands, and be buried or burned to their custom.” Ian sounds so hopeful right now; his voice is dripping with optimism. I haven’t thought about my homeland for a long time, and I start to think on it, to see if I can still remember.

“I would prefer to be burned, myself. That’s what they do in The Great Swamps; they have great big bonfires in the center of town, and the deceased’s family members each fell a tree for kindling. It’s a most fitting ceremony, see,” he seems to go on and on about the beauty of the town square and the funeral foods they’d eat, the symbolic meaning of the fire, and the whole time I’m just asking myself, _where was I before the asylum?_ I have memories, sure. Let’s see, I’ve been walking down shit covered streets before. In the undead burg the streets aren’t clean, but they’re not lined with shit. I’m pretty sure, I’ve seen a basket of bread on a wooden table, in a dark room by a hearth, and potters throwing clay on their wheels out in the bright summer streets. I’ve seen breasts, and women smiling at me with warm features. I lived before I came here. I know that I use to carry copper coins everywhere and felt that they had value, and that when I was young my father whipped me for killing a neighbor’s chicken, or something like that. I don’t remember anything important, and I suppose it’s just because I was a nobody. Son of a farmer, at best. Not a knight, or a hero.

I realize that the man behind me has stopped talking, and the only sounds are of the fire heartily crackling away and breathing. Mine, Ian’s, and the serpent’s. He starts rubbing my stomach in gentle circles, which is stupid. I can barely feel it through the mail. Even so, the attention isn’t unwelcome.

“Master Griggs told me he’s going away tonight,” he says quietly.

“…Well, what for?”

“… Master Logan went to the Duke’s Archives and hasn’t returned. He’s incredibly worried.” Ian is still trying to touch me through my armor while he tells me of his friends’ suicide missions. I’m not surprised by any of this, least not the worry in the false spook’s voice.

“I’ve been seeing phantoms everywhere lately.” He moves his hand to my hip. I just breathe and look at the fire. Being close to someone is nice, I suppose, but how much longer can he talk for?

“Mostly I see shadows. I see ghosts of battle and I see them coming to rest at the bonfire all the time.”

“I haven’t seen anyone.” I say. He pauses his motions.

“I guess I really am going mad.” I wish he wouldn’t talk like that while laying so close and behind me. I don’t reply to that, and we lay together and feign sleep until the sun rises.


End file.
